The Lost Child of Crime
by Butterfly Pixie
Summary: MAFIA FIC. What happens when Bella's new book Izzy by Isabella Swan catches the eye of businessmen CEO Peter Whitlock and CEO Jasper Cullen? When Jasper takes a special interest in her, will he let her in and most importantly will she? What happens when she discovers his true persona? Will she run or stay?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns all recognizable rights to her wonderful world. I'm just playin' as she's kindly letting us, take her world to a new level of Twilight.

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 **01: Introduction, B's POV**

Hi, before I start writing this story of mine and sharing my journey with you. I would like to do something a little different, that I haven't seen many authors out there begin with. Also, it kinda ties in with my journey...

My name is Isabella Swan, a twenty-three-year-old, newly relocated to Chicago, Waitress slash writer with the Chicago times. I mostly do behind the scenes stuff at the Newspaper branch, and I'm a waitress in the south of Chicago by dusk, at a local restaurant within the popular district located at the south end of Chicago, where I live.

It's called Pixie's, the restaurant. I've worked there for a month now and love it. I actually, surprisingly enjoy both my jobs. I never thought growing up I would enjoy work, but yet, I fall asleep at night, looking forwards to starting the new day. Meeting new people, discovering new stories...

I bet you're wondering how I ended up at a newspaper branch sitting on the back benches, researching stories and digging into people's lives?

Well, when I was sixteen, I had chores to do at home, whilst my Dad was working, I looked after the house and did the cooking and cleaning. I happened to be doing the laundry one day and double checked my father's room for any stray laundry that needed washing when I stumbled across lots of newspaper clippings, spread out across his desk, dating as far back as the year I was born.

I knew I shouldn't have looked into my father's probably private work, as a Police Chief, but I couldn't help it. I felt drawn to the paperwork. Silly I know, and ever since reading about the missing girl, from a big Italian family, that's always in the news for one thing or another, I read all the stories and became obsessed.

The story of missing Isabella Sulpicia Volturi, stuck with me as the years flew by, and I read every single story I could find, to help me find a lead, but always came to a dead end and none of my imagination's theory's have made any sense. It's so frustrating.

By the way... this isn't part of my job, just a little project I have been working on, on the sidelines. A mystery to unravel. Though one I never imagined, I'd grow so attached too.

And here I am, on my day off, getting ready for an interview for a full-time job, working for a publishing company, to help the processing of my first book, and yes, it's based on Isabella Volturi, with obviously many changes, and my own spin on things.

I grab my pink file where I kept all the papers I printed off, for this story, that is one hundred and thirty-five thousand words long. I did some research on a few favourite books, to see how many words those authors used, and Google, came up with the Twilight book by Stephenie Meyer to be one hundred and thirty thousand, but Izzy just continued flowing, until she ended naturally. My mind just ran, and continued running until I felt ready to stop in a place, that even shocked me.

I placed my army boots on and laced them up. My outfit consisted of a knee-length tight fitted skirt, a white peplum blouse, and a fitted leather jacket, that sits above the peplum flare. I don't care what people think of my attire, it's my style, I like to mix things up and switching things around and quite frankly I couldn't give a monkies what anyone else thought. I liked me, and I am comfortable with who I am.

They are holding my interview at a top publishing firm called Coven, who's been the sauce of putting most of my favourite books on the shelves, so it's such an honour that they'd interview me after I sent them a little snippet of Izzy. Not even the few closest friends I have or few family members know of my little hobby, that all started from newspaper clippings. They knew I loved reading, and they know I work as a waitress and at a newspaper firm, but other than that, they do not know much about my true desires and dreams.

I had to go by foot, as I don't see the point in driving when you live in a city that has loads of transportation options, and it'll be easier just to flag a cab and hope in. So that's what I did when I walked onto the main city shopping district street.

It took less than five minuet's to grab a taxi driver attention. I gave him the location, then paid him when we arrived. I loved this city, I loved the different people that walked these streets, even though they did not know me, I loved them, I loved everything about city life.

Everyone is different, and everyone has a different story. A completely different way of life and culture outlook compared to my hometown of Forks, Washington.

Forks... A tiny little town on the north-western side of the United States that's under a constant cover of cloud and more often than not also under a wall of water, from the continuous downpours, Fork's seems to gain. It's also too green and brown for me, and same. Everything is the same, the people, the houses, the layout. And worst of all, everyone knows your business. Your name, grandparents, parents, great-grandparents. It's all very claustrophobic. Yet my family seemed to be a bit of a mystery to them...

I snort. Not that I couldn't blame them, I found my own family a mystery. But it is a forbidden topic between myself and my father Charlie and people over the years have learned just to accept it, except some of the nose older generation. But that's a story for another day.

Now As I enter Coven Publishing's impressive skyscraper building, I have an interview with a Peter Whitlock the big man himself, and that shocked me. I felt that this wasn't always the case with interviewing. And when I received the letter through the post, the letter was handwritten and signed by Mr. Whitlock himself.

I wonder briefly how my story of I've named Isabella Izzy fell into the hands of the top man of Coven Publishing. It's just another one to add to my list of growing questions.

As I make my way to the reception desk, I admire the beauty and yet simplicity of the lobby area of this tall skyscraper. Marble flooring with black speckled bits, and artificial trees consisting of blossom and palm Tree's that brightened up the white walls, and black couches but tied in with the white/black marbled floor.

Luckily I didn't have to cue or anything and the blonde behind the desk completely ignored my initial looked up a few times but still didn't acknowledge me. I said hello once and still ignored. That's when I started to tap my foot and cleared my throat a few times. I went to place my hand down on the top of the reception desk's higher counter top, all white when it came down harder than I meant to and the noise echoed around the large lobby, whereas before it was just the tapping away of the keys on the computer keyboards.

"Excuse me, Miss is there a problem?" A voice suddenly spoke from behind me, just as I was about to give this woman a piece of my bloody mind with her attitude.

I spun around to come face to face with a giant of a man, wide shouldered, bulging muscles looking snuggly tight in his clearly high-end fashion brand suit and dark skinned too. I met his gaze, still feeling annoyed.

"Yes, I'm not happy with your receptionists behavior towards a customer's arrival. I have been ignored, even though I've made my presence known, politely at first, for at least five if not ten minutes before my hand made it's presence known with the counter top."

The security guard I'm guessing, looked over my head at the receptionist with a frown before enquiring my name, and reason's for visiting Coven Publishing.

"Isabella Swan, interview with a Peter Whitlock?" I say. I hear the receptionist gasp a little.

"Do you have any proof, ma'am?" The guy's ask. I open my file up and pull out the written letter from my file, that I double and triple checked that I remembered to bring with me for moments like these.

I handed him my letter which he read with his eyes widening. He leaned to the right and glared at the receptionist.

"Mr. Whitlock will hear of this treatment Miss Swan has been receiving, from a member of his staff. Behaviour like this is not tolerated, towards customers or members of staff no matter your reasonings."

I didn't dare bother to look behind me, to see the receptionist's reaction to the big guy's reporting her behavior to basically, well is her boss.

"Miss Swan please accept my apologies for our staff's treatment of you. Mr. Whitlock has been waiting for you, and almost thought you'd decided to decline his interview. Please follow me, and I will personally escort you to your interview, so you'll no longer fall into further trouble."

"Thank you." I said.

We rode up in a separate elevator that apparently lead only to the top floor of the building where Mr Whitlock's office, penthouse office, resides.

The lift chimed as we came to a stop, and the doors opened.

Mr. Security spoke, when I didn't move forwards, he handed me my letter back which I took and said.

"This is where I leave you now, Miss Swan. Mrs. Cope will take over from here."

"Thanks." I said before moving out of the fancy elevator space and into an even nicer, fancier office space. The view you could see from here was amazing, just stepping out from the lift space, and into this large half square with like a bay front. The building has three square walls and then a curve facing south.

With one curved reception desk in the right-hand side in the corner to the left of the lifts and then a long white wall consisting of a smart looking black door with gold brass handles, much like the lifts decor minus the dark wooden flooring, I'm guessing this to be his office, that held the curve edge of the building.

I look up and notice it dome shaped, all glass. You'd literally never escape the elements up here. The floor itself is dark marble with sparkly bits in, and the receptionist desk I noticed sat to the right in the corner, she also had amazing views of the city. Looking back over to his office, I noticed artwork on either side of the door, bright colorful pop art style artwork. Not really my taste but it compliments the office well. This is a lot warmer than downstairs was. As I walked over to the reception desk, the lady looked up from behind the computer screen and smiled warmly at me.

"Miss Swan?" She asked me.

"Yes... Mrs. Cope? I ask her. She nods, and smiles.

"Please take a seat, in the seating area." She gestures to the black corduroy couches in a rectangle form facing the windows in a U shape, with a table in the middle.

"Would you like tea or coffee, Miss Swan?" She asked me.

"Um, no thank you." She nodded and left me with saying.

"I will inform Mr. Whitlock of your arrival. We were worried for a second you decided to cancel on us and found another publishing firm." She then turned and walked away back to her desk.

I'm not sure how long I sat here, clutching onto my file, that could change my life forever until the sound of loud male laughter, filled the silence of the office.

I tried really hard not to turn around and stare but keep my eyes focused on this magnificent view of Chicago and beyond, but a throat clearing caused me to stand up, and spin around to come face to face with two beautiful men. I probably now looked like an idiot, judging by their smirks.

"Miss Swan?" The dark haired man said from my left.

"Um, yes?" I replied, my intelligent response, my eyes unable to tear away from the beautiful blues that held me locked within their gaze.

"I'm Mr. Whitlock, pleased you could finally make it up ma'am." He held his hand out to shake, and I reluctantly turned fully to shake his hand. My possible future bosses hand.

"Thank you for giving me this opportunity with an interview sir." I replied back smartly.

"And this fucker hear is Mr. Cullen." He let go of my hand as my eyes widened upon his use of casual language.

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Authors Note: Hi, just a little note to say this story has 30 chapters and complete :) So updates will be regular. Some twice a week, some once a week, depending on how busy I am. But It will be at least once a week for sure.

What did you all think of the first chapter?


	2. Chapter 2

Authors note's will be at the end of each chapter. :)

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Mr. Whitlock just burst out laughing, whilst Mr. Cullen looked blank faced.

"Was your reaction to my use of language Miss Swan or this fucker's name?" He asked.

"Your language!" I said, and could clearly hear the shock "n" surprise in my voice. This for sure wasn't how I pictured my interview going, and hell we hadn't even started yet.

"You have not heard of the Cullen name?" Mr. Cullen asked, his blank facade dropped for a second in surprise.

"I have, but I chose to not to judge people by what the papers say, after all I have worked for the Chicago times, this past month... so I'm well aware of what goes on inside, which is why I am here I guess?" I said to him. I knew what the media printed about his family, and the Whitlocks, along with the Volturi's, along with a few other wealthy families. But I chose not to believe in media garbage, as nearly all of it is fabricated.

He said nothing, just continued to watch me and for some reason I didn't find that freaky, not from him... and yet a part of me knew I should.

"I have my file here for you, Mr. Whitlock," I said to him. Trying to change the topic, and bring it back to a more professional one. He seemed to sober up from his laughing fit after that.

"Ah yes, Izzy. Your story intrigued me, and I hope you don't mind, but I have asked my good friend: Mr. Cullen to sit in with this particular interview." I frown but say.

"No problem." Then added.

"I get the impression, you don't usually do this kind of thing, let alone hand write a letter for an interview? I ask him, as we enter his office. Both men seemed to tense, at this question.

"Yes, it's story I found intriguing, I'm guessing your inspiration came from the times, the newspaper's where obsessed with Isabella Sulpicia Volturi, who was robbed from her cradle when just a defenseless baby?" He asked me. I nodded.

"Yes, I love a good mystery Mr. Whitlock and I accidentally stumbled across this particular story one day when checking for stray laundry in my father's room."

Mr. Whitlock looked like he was having trouble not to laugh again.

"Your father's room?" Mr. Cullen asked, glaring at his friend.

"Yes, I remember trying to resist looking, but I couldn't help it. When I was picking up stray laundry he'd missed. I noticed a bunch of newspaper clippings on his desk, dating back to the year I was born, to then presence when I was sixteen. My father is the Chief of Police, so I guess he was working on tackling the case in his spare time, and after reading about it, I decided to do my own investigating and decided to try and put the missing puzzle pieces together. When I kept coming to dead ends, and ridiculous theory's, I decided to put all my research together and make a fiction story based on a real-life event."

"And what is your father's name?" Mr. Cullen asked.

We are now sat down, on big cushiony desk chairs, the two men sat behind Mr. Whitlock's desk, whilst I sat opposite them, with my work spread out in front of the two men. I'd even managed to find my own newspaper clippings based on Isabella Sulpicia Volturi, so I didn't have to keep sneaking back into my father's room and found the rest when I started working at Chicago Times.

"Why do you need to know my father's name? I ask him, confused and a little suspicious.

"Curiosity, after all this man started your path unknowingly to you writing this amazingly detailed story. Did he have notes also?" Mr. Whitlock asked, almost accusingly, I thought, though he did his best to mask it.

"Charles, Charlie Swan, Chief Swan!" I reply, narrowing my eyes at him. No matter how he may have made me feel when I was locked within his intense blue gaze or when our skin touched, my father was the only family I had left. I'd protect him with my own life. He's the only person who's never abandoned me and for some reason I did not like this question and felt instantly guilty for giving my father's name so easily even though I felt suspicious and wary of why he wanted to know.

What. The. Hell?

I watched as Mr. Whitlock and Mr. Cullen shared some sort of look.

"What?" I asked them.

"Nothing!" They both replied automatically.

Again... What. The. Hell.

I rise from my chair and start reaching over to tidy my papers up, I don't feel comfortable, and I feel on edge. I don't like the way this meeting is turning out.

A hand suddenly grabs hold of my wrist, stopping me from sorting my papers out, to leave this creepy room.

"I apologise if I made you feel uncomfortable Miss. Swan, I was just curious is all. It's not everyday you come across a Police of Chief, doing work at home. They usually save it for the station then drown themselves in beer down the local diner."

Where his hand held my wrist, all I could feel was tingles, and I just knew he felt them too, as our eyes locked. I saw more than I think he intended me to.

"Miss. Swan, for what it's worth. I would like to be personally responsible for getting your story out on the shelves. But first, I would like to read through it all myself, including your research. Everything you have on this topic of Isabella Sulpicia Volturi. Your story and research I find very intriguing. Did your father have any notes if you don't mind me asking? If you remember?" Mr. Whitlock asked me.

Mr. Cullen still had hold of my wrist and I didn't miss the narrowed sideways look Mr. Whitlock gave our connection. I wondered if this was unusual behaviour, for Mr. Cullen. I don't know much about the man who currently has a hold of me, except for the rubbish the media spew out.

"Really? Why would you personally see to it yourself Mr. Whitlock if you don't mind me asking?" I asked him, ignoring the question regarding my father.

"Oh please call me Peter, after all we are going to be seeing a lot of each other starting from tomorrow noon."

My eyes widened. Mr. Cullen still hadn't let go of my wrist.

"I still have work Mr.-" He half smirked, half smiled at me.

"Peter." He corrected me. I felt a little awkward and I probably looked it as I finished what I was saying until I was rudely interrupted.

"Peter, I haven't even told anyone at the Chicago Times about this interview. I just asked for a day off, and I work at a restaurant in the evenings too."

Mr. Whitlock let go of my wrist and placed his hand on the vast dark wooden desk.

"You have two jobs?" He asked me. I couldn't tell if it was anger or shock.

I glared at him.

"Not all of us have the privilege of being bosses, and can do as we please whilst the rest of us slave away and you all sit on your asses in your fancy ass suits and overpriced chairs, or drinking crystal whilst sunning yourself on a yacht somewhere." I snap. I quickly realised my mistake and slapped my hand over my lips in horror, as I felt my eyes widen upon my mistake.

Mr. Whitlock, I mean Peter broke the cold silence by laughing. I didn't find anything funny at all.

Mr. Cullen's lips thinned into a frighteningly thin line, and his eyes became cold and hard.

"Who the fuck is your boss?" 

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Massive thanks to the response of chapter one :)  
What did you all think of this chapter and it's ending?


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